


Metanoia

by Wolfstarstreet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfstarstreet/pseuds/Wolfstarstreet
Summary: metanoia: noun. the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life.Seven years of the Marauders at Hogwarts.





	Metanoia

**Author's Note:**

> hello, all! I began working on this piece in 2015 as an unmotivated yet ambitious teenage girl. four years later, I'm thinking the former part of that's changed, and I'm ready to pick it back up. these first ten chapters will be edited versions of the original ten I already wrote, which you may or may not have read. either way, enjoy this piece from the beginning. I'll add tags and things as I go, but this is a fresh start. for me and you. c'est la vie I guess. xx

I.  


“Shall we go for a walk, Sirius?” Orion Black asked his eldest son. Neither of them considered it a question. Orion’s deep voice was like cracked pepper, giving Sirius goosebumps and a chilling reminder that that voice had, and always would have, control over him.  


“Yes, sir,” answered the eleven-year-old Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black. Sirius stood from his place at the dinner table, which tonight, was set for four-- Walburga, Sirius’ mother, Regulus, his nine-year-old little brother, his father, and himself—the latter two having already excused themselves.  


Sirius followed his father’s ominous frame through a few of Grimmauld Place’s corridors. The portraits of family members from decades past knew better than to so much as blink as the head of the family walked past.  


Sleek shelves lined the walls of the Black Library, housing thousands of books-- How to Properly Cast an Unforgiveable by Hempus le Fay, Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, and Magick Moste Evile by Godelot were of a few. Sirius took a deep breath and held it in his throat as he walked off the Slytherin-green carpet onto the cold tile of the library floor. He kept up with his father’s brisk pace, falling into step behind him.  


Finally, the two reached Orion’s desk, with two chairs on either side. One cushy and ornate, the other static, made of dark wood and sharp angles. Orion and Sirius took their respective seats.  


“How have you been?”  


Sirius sat up straighter as his father spoke. “Fine, sir.”  


“Just fine?” Orion crossed his arms over his chest. A challenge.  


“More than fine, sir. It’s just, a lot’s about to h-happen.”  


“I’m aware. There’s no need to be nervous, boy. You’ll be treated like royalty at school if you do what you’re told, yes?”  


“Yes, sir.”  


“And don’t stutter. It’s unbecoming.” Orion looked beyond Sirius, blinking as if his eyelids were too heavy, as if he were bored of the conversation. He folded his long, pale fingers together in his lap, and Sirius took note of the many rings he wore. A large amethyst one stuck out to him, the rest being plain-looking bands in silver or black. “I presume you know what the family expects of you?”  


“Yes, sir.”  


“Articulate, Sirius.”  


“You expect for me to be sorted into Slytherin House, for me to behave in a manner only becoming of the Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black. You expect for me to earn top marks in all of my classes. You expect for me to befriend all of those with merit, regardless of age.” Sirius recited the list of expectations like they were answers to some sort of verbal exam.  


“What else?”  


There was more? Sirius panicked. He shuffled through the list again and again in his head, yet couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d forgotten.  


“Family.” Sirius jumped at Orion’s voice. “You will stay close to your family. Bella and Narcissa, yes? Upholding the reputation of the House of Black is your first priority. Everything you do shall be in loyalty to them, to us.”  


“O-of course, sir,” Sirius replied. He bemoaned his lapse in memory. How could he be so stupid?  


“Now, I trust that you shall exceed all of these expectations?” Orion’s tone was suspiciously nonchalant.  


“Yes, sir.”  


“Good. There are some presents waiting in your room, compensation for your cooperation.”  


“Thank you, sir.” Sirius smiled, trying not to be over-excited, unbecoming. He did love presents, though.  


“You may go,” Orion said.  


Sirius stood, chin high, back straight. He turned toward the staircase and walked in long, confident strides that mimicked his father’s.  


“Sirius?”  


He stopped where he was and turned to look at his father, who hadn’t moved at all.  


“I suspect you know where to meet Kreacher, before you proceed to your room?”  


Sirius’ shoulders sagged a bit. “I do, sir.”  


“Brilliant. Five lashes for forgetting familial obligation, five lashes for stuttering.”  


“Yes, sir.”  


“You may go.”  


Wordlessly, Sirius turned on his heel, trepidation building as he headed for the kitchen.  
~  


Sirius was dying.  


At least, that’s what it felt like.  


White hot agony burned in a line across his slightly protruding spine. The tail-end of the whip wrapped around Sirius’ body and caught his ribs, the pain somehow feeling sharper there. The sensation hugged his body in a sick embrace, the gashes open and angry and red. His skin was flushed and torn, sweat dripping down his body. All coherent thoughts disappeared, and he was left stuttering, whimpering, begging. A shaking pile of bones on the emerald tiles of the kitchen floor.  


“Ten,” croaked Kreacher, the Black family house elf. He was just over two and a half feet tall, and with his drooping nose, jagged fingernails, and half-lidded eyes, Kreacher was quite a frightening sight for anyone who hadn’t grown up with him. He snapped his fingers, and the whip cracked down on Sirius’ back once more. He screamed in pain, collapsing from his kneeling position and landing stomach-first onto the floor. Droplets of blood raced down his skin and pooled at the waistband of his dress pants. Tears followed suit, falling from stormy gray eyes and pooling at the corners of Sirius’ mouth.  


“Master Black’s orders have been fulfilled,” Kreacher said. “Master Sirius is free to go.”  


With a loud clap of his wiry hands, the ten gashes on Sirius’ back were sewn together. He mewled in agony as the blood stains were lifted from his skin and the scars simmered out from red to barely noticeable white lines. They were queued evenly, traveling from his shoulder blades to his lower back.  


Kreacher left the room, his interest clearly gone. Sirius tried to stand but hissed in pain and fell back to the floor, resigning himself to laying on the cool, sweaty tile.  


He didn’t know how much time had passed when a small voice whispered, “Sirius?”  


The heir lifted his head, finding his nine-year-old brother standing in the door frame.  


“Hi,” he choked, not realizing how dry his throat was.  


“What’d you do now?” The younger boy stepped closer, dressed in a pair of pyjamas.  


“What time is it?” Sirius asked, deflecting his brother’s question.  


“After nine,” he said.  


“Merlin, Reg, you need to go upstairs. If they catch you out of bed, you know what’ll-“  


“No, I know,” Regulus interrupted. “It isn’t nine thirty yet. I have ten minutes and I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt too bad.”  


“I’m okay.” Sirius got to his feet on a pair of shaky legs, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out.  


“What’d you do?” Regulus repeated.  


“Same old stuff. I was being stupid and all the rest.”  


“Why can’t you try harder? So they won’t hurt you like this?”  


Sirius felt a stab of annoyance, but knew that his little brother was only trying to help. “I do try, Reg. But they expect more from me than they expect from you.”  


“Okay.”  


“Now come on.”  


Sirius picked his shirt up off the floor, slipping his arms through the sleeves. He let the black satin sit against his skin as a small comfort, but didn’t bother buttoning it. He stepped forward tentatively, and after a few more steps, took Regulus’ hand and pulled him along.  


The two boys walked in silence up the stairs. Their steps were quiet under the plush carpet, their communication limited to Regulus squeezing Sirius hand harder if they passed a particularly unsettling portrait of an ancestor. It was inevitably nearing nine thirty, now.  


Sirius and Regulus had rooms opposite each other, both doors engraved with a golden, cursive interpretation of their names. As they stood in front of them, Sirius looked down at his little brother—Reg’s eyes wide and concerned, trying to glimpse any signs of his older brother being in pain.  


“Hey,” Sirius’ voice was softer than usual.  


“Yeah?”  


“I’m okay, honest. Don’t worry about me.”  


“Okay.” Sirius knew that Regulus was anything but.  


“What’s bugging you, then?” he asked.  


“S-school,” he mumbled.  


“School? You mean Hogwarts?”  


The younger boy nodded.  


“Worried about me leaving?”  


“I’ll be all alone, Sirius. For nine months. What if you make friends, and you like them more than me? What if you don’t want to talk to me anymore? What if mum yells at me? What if Kreacher hurts me? What if-”  


“Hey, hey, breathe, alright? You’re my little brother. Even if I make friends, I’ll still talk to you. And mum never yells at you. And Kreacher won’t hurt you unless mum or dad tells him to, so you should be fine. And, and no matter how far away I am, or how long I don’t see you, I’ll always be there for you. You’re my little brother,” Sirius finished. His chest ached with more than just the pain from his punishment.  


“Promise?” Regulus’ small voice asked.  


“I promise,” Sirius replied. “And nine months, you wish. I’ll be back for Christmas hols, it’ll be like I never left.” He squeezed his little brother’s hand one last time before disappearing into his room. It was definitely late now, and their mother would be upstairs to check on them soon.  


He stepped in, the room lit dimly by a few candles. All he wanted was to shower and sleep. His bones ached, all of them everywhere, and he felt filthy. However, his grey eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he noticed the enormous trunk sitting on his bed. It was sleek and black, with gold latches and detailing. Sirius unhooked both clasps and flung it open.  


What seemed like a thousand Galleons greeted his eyes, a sea of gold across the lid of the trunk. On the other side sat stacks of new robes. Sirius ran his fingers over the various materials- some silky, some velvety, others stiff, with a familiar properness about them. The pain that ran through Sirius’ body seemed to dissipate, and he jumped onto his mattress. He let his eleven-year-old mind take over, throwing the coins in the air and letting them clink back onto the bed. He smiled happily, examining the money, imagining what he’d buy when he was at school. He’d have to tell Regulus sometime, and bring him presents over the winter.  


Sirius was suddenly overcome with excitement about going to Diagon Alley the next morning. His mother had promised to take him, and although he’d been to Knockturn Alley hundreds of times before on Black family business, he’d never been to Diagon. Sirius was overjoyed at the notion of getting his wand, getting his books, and packing his new trunk. Sirius was ready for school. He was ready for freedom. Hogwarts meant change, and Sirius was hungry for it.  


Things were, for once, working in favor of the Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black.


End file.
